Bite the Bullet
by Cherry
Summary: Sometimes the thing that you most need to stay hidden are the ones that you can't contain. Sequel to 'From a Distance'.


Bite the Bullet

Archive: As before, go ahead, but I wouldn't mind knowing where.   
  
Author: Cherry (Cherry Ice)   
  
Thanks to: Pokey and AJ for the beta, and everyone who convinced me to get it out there (you know who you are).   
  
*   
  
Why'd you do it Sam? She asks me, pacing. Why on earth did you go and do that? She asks, stopping, spinning to face me. She waits for me to answer her, but I just stare at a spot a bit behind her right ankle.   
  
I can't answer.  
  
Do you have any idea how much of a mess this is? She's really starting to get mad. I've never seen Margaret really mad before today, but this is the second time tonight that she's seemed ready to blow. CJ is going to flip. Not to mention the wrath that Toby is going to bring down on your head. What if Leo thinks that I'm too much trouble to keep around? What if Ted sues you?  
  
I know exactly how big a deal this thing is going to be, I say, looking up at her from the cold bench where I sit. I've never liked jail cells. She's cradling her right arm, and my resolve deepens. You know what? I don't care. I'd do it again in a heartbeat. Ted knows that. And he's not going to sue.  
  
You really think that he's not going to sue you because he knows that you'd do it again? I think that if the bars weren't between us, she'd be trying to strangle me.   
  
No. He's not going to sue because he knows that he can't win. Not with what he did, not with who I am, and, most of all, because somewhere, deep down, he knows that he deserved it. She leans against the bars on the far side, her back to me. I can't see her face, but I know that she's calculating my words, my actions, trying to figure out what to make of the events of the night.   
  
Here I am, in a situation that I said that I'd never get into. She wasn't exaggerating when she said that this was bad. She doesn't know the half of it. But instead of planning, trying to figure out a way to extract myself, I'm hanging in the silence, waiting for her to speak.   
  
She doesn't look at me. Her eyes are glued to the bricks across the hall from her. She can just walk out of here and not look back. I envy her a bit. I'm trapped.  
  
Start at the beginning Sam. But this had better be good.  
  
I don't know where to begin. Should I open with the first time that we met? At the AIDS charity ball, the first time that I really noticed her? The bar this evening? Looking at the way that she's holding herself, I don't think that she has the patience for the whole story, but she's not going to settle for an abbreviated version. I steel myself. Well, I came in this morning to see what Leo thought of that report I left with you for him on Friday.....  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
Sam approached Leo's office, holding the Boston Creme that he'd stolen from Kathy when she'd gone to get the Baxter file for him. He knew that he'd pay for it, the tomatoes would be missing off of his salads for the rest of the week.  
  
But the thing had just been sitting there, the chocolate icing on the top glistening. He paused outside office to make sure that his tie was on strait.  
  
If he'd just walked right in, things would have gone very differently. Margaret's voice drifted to his ears, faint against the bustle and commotion of the White House. He didn't mean to eavesdrop, he really didn't, but her voice was mildly hypnotic.  
  
... told you *before*, Ted... For the last time... You do know that this isn't the best place to be bothering me, right? There are four secret service agents standing in the room right now, in case you were interested... Her voice was agitated. There was a long pause, then she started to speak again. Fine. The Tapas Tavern at eleven. If I'm off work by then. And as long as you realize that it doesn't mean...  
  
Sam felt a slow sort of anger start to burn inside of him. He gave himself a mental shake. Margaret was free to have drinks with who ever she chose to. Plastering a goofy grin on his face, he walked into the office. He was just in time to see her slam the receiver down. She put her head on her left arm, her right one resting on her lap. Sam felt the anger start to grow again. You all right? he asked, softly. She started at his voice.  
  
He got a good look at her for the first time that day. Her face was drawn, her eyes tired. I'm fine, she said with a faint smile, running a hand through her bright red hair. Then she composed herself, and she looked almost like she did any other day. He wondered how often she was this upset, but never let it show.  
  
He didn't push it. If you ever want to talk...  
  
She smiled more convincingly at that, and she was everyday Margaret once again. Really Sam. Don't worry about me.  
  
He walked over and placed the donut on her desk. She raised an eyebrow at him.   
  
You look like you need it more than I do.  
  
She smiled at him again. Sam saved the picture in his mind. I assume that you want to see Leo about that report?  
  
Yeah, if he's got a minute.  
  
He happens to have several, he just doesn't know it. Go on in. He was almost at the door when she spoke again. Thanks for the donut. Boston Creme is my favourite.  
  
he asked. I had no idea. Then he pushed into Leo's office so Margaret wouldn't see the effort that it had taken him to keep a strait face.  
  
*  
  
Sam stared into his drink moodily. His jacket was thrown over the back of his chair, his tie loosened against the heat. *And what do you think you're doing here?* his reflection asked him. *Margaret's having drinks with some guy. Some guy named Ted. What are you going to do, sit here and bask in misery while they have a good time?*  
  
*She sounded upset,* he told the reflection. *I wanted to make sure that everything was ok.*  
  
*And what would you do if everything wasn't all right? Glare the guy to death? I'm sure Margaret would appreciate that. So would Leo, and the President, and Toby, and..*  
  
*Ok, ok, I get the picture. If you must know, I don't know why I'm here. I wasn't going to come. I just got in my car and went for a drive. Then, while I was driving, I got thirsty and decided to stop for a drink, and this was the first place I found.*  
  
*Right, so the time and location were just a huge coincidence. By the way- remember, you drove here. Take it easy on the scotch.*  
  
I'm still on my first one, Sam said. And what kind of a name is Ted, anyway? He shook his head. Great, now I'm talking to my drink.   
  
He turned his head just in time to see Margaret walk in the door. Her step was easy, despite her heels. She was dressed up half way, nothing too fancy, but not too casual. The warm night air rushed in through the open door with her, brushing past Sam as it explored the room. She leaned against the bar, surveying the room. The bartender came over and took her order, leaning in closer than he had to. Sam felt himself start to bristle, but contained it. It was loud in the bar, white noise filling the dark room.   
  
Sam watched as she sighed and turned for her drink, a shot of something dark amber. She downed it in a swallow, grimacing. She walked over to a booth nearby and sat down. She was facing so that Sam had a good view of her, but she couldn't see him due to the positioning of the staircase that led to the next floor. Sam looked at his watch. 11:16.  
  
The guy had pretty well begged her to show up, and he was late.  
  
Margaret stood out in this place like a blaze of colour. The tavern was done in dark wood, black leather, and silver accents. He watched as she leaned back against the leather seat, her bright hair half up on top of her head. She crossed her legs easily in the green skirt. But it was her fingers that he found himself watching. The short, sensible nails drummed nervously against the wood, the pale polish glimmering.  
  
Sam was almost ready to go over and talk to her when a man pushed through the crowd. He was tall, of average build, reasonably attractive, and had stormy blue eyes.  
  
Sam hated him on sight.  
  
He sat across from Margaret, reaching out to take her hands. She pulled them back, not looking him in the eye. I told you before, Ted. This doesn't mean anything. Things are still the same.  
  
So either the two of them were on the rocks or it was over between the two of them. Sam felt his hatred lift a little bit.  
  
How are things at work, Marge? Ted asked her. The nickname was enough to make Sam growl. Ted made her sound like something you cook with. By the look on Margaret's face, she wasn't too fond of it either.  
  
she replied, her fingers tapping again. They sat in uncomfortable silence.  
  
Look, Marge...  
  
Don't even say it. Don't tell me that you'll change, that you can fix everything that went wrong. Our relationship wasn't going well for a very long time, and I think that the best thing for us to do is go our separate ways.  
  
Sam almost did a tap dance on the table  
  
You'll come back. Ted said, uttering it as if it were predetermined fact. You always do.  
  
Not this time.  
  
Look, is it because of your arm? How many times do I have to apologize for that. It'll never happen again, I swear. Ted's face was earnest, desperate.  
  
Sam's stomach dropped out. He thought of Margaret, cradling her head in her left hand, her right arm tight against her lap.   
  
It's not just that, Ted. This relationship isn't healthy for either of us.  
  
So you decide, Ted said, his voice straining, To break it off on our eleven month anniversary, in the most cliche way.  
  
I'm sorry, I really am. I just think that...  
  
Look Marge, we both know that thinking isn't your strong suite.  
  
Sam was surprised when she didn't say anything to that. Her gaze just dropped a few degrees and she held herself stiffly.  
  
You don't just get to *decide* that this isn't working, Ted continued. This involves both of us. It's not just you, you know. You're being incredibly selfish. After all that I've done for you..... You should really take a look at this from my point of view.  
  
Sam was ready to explode by the point, but he held himself in, letting Margaret deal with it in her own way.  
  
For now.  
  
She held her gaze steadily over Ted's shoulder, finally turning her eyes to his. But, you see, I do just get to decide. And I did, she said, rising from the table. He followed her, and when they were almost at the door, grabbed her hands and held them in his. Sam rose from his table to follow them, making sure to keep a few people between himself and the pair. He was afraid of being caught, but he had to see how this ended.  
  
Ted said, almost whispering, his eyes pleading as he raised her hands and kissed her knuckles. Sam didn't blame him one big for his panic.  
  
I'm sorry, Margaret whispered, almost as softly. She smiled sadly, then turned to leave.  
  
Only Ted's grip on her hands didn't loosen. He held on tight, his fingers digging into the woman's wrists.  
  
Ted, let go of me right this second.  
  
Margaret, listen to me, please. You're making a big mistake.  
  
Margaret twisted her hands inside of his, but he had a good grip on her. No, I'm pretty sure that this is one of the smartest things that I've ever done, she growled. She almost got free, but he yanked on her right arm.  
  
The one that she'd been cradling. Margaret gasped in pain, her eyes wide. Sam tried to get to them, pushing past the people in his way, but the crowd was denser all of a sudden, and he couldn't move fast enough.  
  
Something inside of the secretary snapped. Her face flushed with anger, and Sam saw Ted hop away from her. She was out the door in a flash. Ted composed himself and followed after her, limping. The bartender had been watching the entire scene. Sam pushed through the people separating him from the door and rushed out onto the street.  
  
He found them on the curb, yelling at each other. Then Ted reached over and grabbed her sore arm again, shaking her.  
  
It was a night for snapping. I think you'll find, Ted, that you're the one who made the mistake after all. His low voice carried, more imposing than the screaming going on before him.   
  
Then Ted turned to face him, to tell the imbecile who'd interrupted him and Margaret that this was a private matter, and Sam lost it. His vision faded a bit, and Ted's sneer was all that he could see.   
  
So now he sat, in a jail cell, his back pressed against the cold, damp stones, telling the events of the night yet again......  
  
You didn't answer my question. Margaret tells me. Why did you do it?  
  
I ask her. You were there and you ask me why I did it?  
  
She's silent at that. She's still leaning against the cell bars with her back, facing away from me.  
  
I have a question for you. Was he like that for all the time that you were dating him?  
  
Her silence is all the answer that I need. I feel my anger start to grow again, despite the bruises and lacerations which tear at me. There's the start of a shiner on my cheek and a cut which has been roughly bandaged across my forehead. Why did you put up with him for eleven months? Couldn't you see that you didn't need him?  
  
He wasn't violent Sam. Not until lately. And maybe I didn't need him, but not everything is about what you need. Sometimes, it's about being there. Just being there for someone else. Sometimes you just have to be there, and bite the bullets. Sometimes, when you're not there, bad things happen, people get hurt. And sometimes, it's people you care about a lot. Do you know what it's like to come so close to losing people, and you weren't there?  
  
Bite the Bullet.  
  
We're not talking about Ted anymore, are we? I ask her, rising from the cot. I move towards her. I want to reassure her, to tell her that everything's all right, but I hover there, not wanting to spook her.  
  
Bite the Bullet. Strange how one little expression can reveal so much.  
  
She shakes her head, her anger gone. Now she just looks very alone.  
  
I lean against the bars beside her, the metal cold against my skin, biting through my thin shirt. I left my jacket in the bar.  
  
Do you know what today is? She asks me, not daring to turn to look at me.  
  
I nod, knowing that she'll know I did it.   
  
One year since the assassination attempt, I whisper in her ear. Eleven months since she started going out with Ted. She shivers, a chill running down her body. So we stand there, neither of us talking.  
  
We all got down time after the shooting. Time to adjust to what was going on, to accept the fact that someone had tried to kill us, that we had almost lost some of our best friends.  
  
All of us except Leo. He was right back in there as soon as the Secret Service let him go.  
  
Which meant that Margaret was right back at work as well. She works ungodly hours, maybe worse than any of us actually do. She's there before Leo, she leaves after him every night.  
  
But Leo had had people try and kill him and his friends before. It's funny the stuff that war lets you deal with easily. Not that it's something you get used to, but he had a handle, a reference. Margaret was drifting. No one saw. No one ever really notices her except me, and Leo sometimes. But Leo was too busy with work, and I was too busy worrying about Josh. Then Ted came along.  
  
She turns to me then, her eyes bright with tears that have never come. I was supposed to be there, she tells me. I was going to go with Leo that night, but I had to look after my kid sister's baby for a few hours.  
  
I was supposed to be there.  
  
I can't imagine what she's been going through since that night. We've all moved on. Even Josh is, for the most part, completely over what happened. We moved on, together. But someone forgot to grab Margaret's hand and bring her with us. I brush the lock of red hair off of her forehead that's fallen out of her half ponytail, rub her shoulders. She wipes the tears off of her face, ashamed that I can see them. She sniffles a little, and that small, sad, sound tears me apart inside.  
  
Then she composes herself and pulls back from me. Her eyes bore into mine. You still didn't answer my question, she says.  
  
I was hoping that she'd miss that. I shouldn't have thought that I could get it past her.  
  
I could lie to her, but I'm tired of hiding, hiding behind what I'm supposed to be and act and feel. Maybe if I'd come out sooner, she wouldn't have suffered this long.  
  
So I bite the bullet.  
  
She doesn't believe me at first. Then she realizes that I'm serious, and her eyes get huge. Such lovely eyes.   
  
When I finish talking, she doesn't know what to say. Times stretched out, and I can't breath. She looks up at at the sounds of footsteps echoing down the slate corridor, and I can see Josh swaggering down towards us, dressed in blue jeans and a faded grey t-shirt. They must have called him when they realized that Margaret was too mad at me to pay my bail. I don't know how they got his number, but he's here, followed by a pale blue clad guard who's flipping through his key ring, presumably finding the key to my cell.  
  
And time stays stretched as I look at Margaret, her flame hair and eyes the only brightness that I see in the starkness of the artificial lights. I look at her, and she looks strait at me. I tighten my hold on the metal bars of the cell. I'm hanging in the silence, and as she starts to speak, I can feel my world changing forever.


End file.
